Stardust
by DaReChRa
Summary: [HMC][HowlSophie][AU] He doesn't show up for their wedding day. She is disappointed, but not at all surprised.
1. Prologue

**;;Disclaimer//** I do not own _Howl's Moving Castle_, merely borrowing its characters for my own selfish purposes.

**;;Summary//** When he didn't show up for their wedding day, she was disappointed, but not at all surprised. Five years later, in a cruel twist of fate, they see each other again, and Sophie struggles to hold together the pieces of the fragile life she's built, not only for her, but also for her child – _their _child.

**;;Warnings//** Alternate Universe – this is a contemporary fanfic.

Ratings subject to change.

Great amounts of drama in future chapters.

**- - - - - **

**Stardust **

by DaReChRa

**Prologue**

**- - - - - **

"Oh, Sophie, dearest, but you look absolutely **stunning**!"

Fannie, who was, by then, heaving in great lungfuls of air and sobbing hysterically, dabbing at her pretty face with a small handkerchief and trying vainly to abate the continuous onslaught running down her cheeks, took another look at her daughter and proceeded to burst into a fresh set of tears. The younger woman, in all her glowing glory, tentatively patted her back in an effort to calm the seemingly miserable female down. Heaven knows to what extent Fannie can go in her spontaneous mood swings.

"Now, now, mother, we'll still be seeing each other every day." _Or at least once a week, _Sophie added as an afterthought, but was careful not to voice it out loud for fear of how Fannie would react.

Sophie herself had to squash down the overwhelming urge to let her stomach get the best of her and allow it to return her supper (she didn't even try eating breakfast – that would've only resulted in a mad dash for the bathroom) to the outside world. They were mere minutes away from the church in which the marriage ceremony was to be held, and she was seriously considering asking the driver to just pull over and leave her right here, here on the corner of Burke Drive and Bourbon Avenue.

"- and you won't be able to remind me to take my medicine every night, or make Martha and Lettie see reason when they get into their disputes, or –" Fannie paused in the middle of what promised to be a long tirade and brightened visibly, not looking at all like she had just cried a river. "Oh! Why, look, darling, we're here!"

As soon as the words were out of Fannie's mouth, the rented limousine slowed to a halt in front of a grand, wooden building whose few marble steps led to a set of doors that were thrown open in welcome, framed by white roses and billowy silk cloths. Sophie took in a sharp breath, ignoring the faint pang of something she couldn't name, didn't want to name, and didn't allow herself to think any more. There was a tiny pit of dread slowly growing in her stomach…

All she could see were the lights, for some reason. It was broad daylight, and there weren't even any electronic bulbs or anything of the sort turned on. She didn't look at the guests, didn't recognize them, and there was a certain something in their eyes that she didn't want to see.

_No, no, everything's going to be fine… They're not looking at you in pity, Sophie. Everything is all right. The decorations are in place, everyone already knows in what order to go down the aisle, the priest is looking healthy today – _

The music wasn't playing.

What was going on? They've already rehearsed this a hundred times. Didn't the pianist know by then that when she shows up, it was his cue to start? Or maybe he got the fever at the last minute and now they'd have to make do without the music. Yes, that must be it.

And then, Lettie was there all of a sudden, lovelier than the bride even in a simple floor-length cream dress, with her breathtaking but oddly empty smile and too-bright eyes. Sophie gripped her bouquet tighter and abruptly looked at the tinted windows, the carpet, anywhere but Lettie's face. She knew her sister like the back of her hand, and she was afraid of reading the truth in Lettie's eyes.

_Oh, God, no. Please, no. It can't be true – _

"Sophie, you look gorgeous – but we still have some things we have to fix here before the nuptials can start, so why don't you wait a bit in the Bridesmaid's room over there? Martha's inside. It'll only take a while, okay, honey? We'll call you out when everything's perfect." Lettie held Sophie by the elbow and led the way. Curiously enough, the route they'd taken included going outside and walking all the way around the church to a back door, which led to a small sitting room, and then through another door where Martha was present. The girl stopped what she was doing – pacing, it looked like – and instead started wringing her skirt, nervously nibbling on her lower lip.

"Oh, Sophie," Martha enveloped her sister in a tight hug, further confusing the bride and increasing the small suspicion implanted in her mind. She couldn't tell if Martha was hugging her because of a subdued kind of happiness or because of guilt and sorrow. She hoped – she hoped fervently –

"We tried calling him, Sophie, on his cell, at home –"

"Oh, Martha, no! Look what you've done," Lettie interrupted before she could get any further. "Now, Sophie, darling, ignore her. I'm sure he's on his way here. Must have had one too many drinks last night, you know how that man is," she laughed, a glorious, tinkling sound, but Sophie could not say that she understood what was going on anymore. The room was spinning – why was the room spinning? – and there was a loud drumming in her ears – _that must be my heart_. "He'll be here. He'll be here," Lettie chanted, although who exactly she was trying to convince, Sophie was not quite sure.

-

Nine hours after the supposed start of the wedding found Sophie sitting down on the front steps of the still-gaily-adorned church, her posy of flowers, long ago forgotten, lying glumly beside her. She couldn't care any less for the mud that she was sitting on or that the wind had ruined the elaborate design of her hair that Fannie and Martha had taken three painstakingly long hours to complete. In the back of her mind, a voice said that it was going to rain soon, come back inside, Sophie.

But she really didn't give a damn for the rain or the possibility that she'll get sick out here waiting for someone who was not – someone who will never come. Why, oh, why do you insist on breaking your heart, and _God, it just hurts._ Someone, please make it stop. She couldn't think of what else she was going to do tomorrow, is there even a point in living anymore? Find a job, she supposed. _But for who?_ She didn't want the money. It would be for her family, she supposed. But when is she going to start doing things for **herself**? When she deserved it, she supposed. Because she must've done something heinous in a past life for the Gods to make her suffer like this.

She didn't cry yet, felt no need to cry at all. Besides, the tears wouldn't come, even as Sophie asked herself for the umpteenth time that day, _Why aren't you crying, silly girl?_ It was not because she wasn't regretful – oh, she loves him so much – or because she was numb inside – goodness knows her heart was slowly dying, only to be healed by the slightest sign that hinted at his coming, _maybe he was just really late_, only to be broken again when it turned out that it wasn't him, after all.

Even through the haze of pain, Sophie thought that this wasn't very uncharacteristic of him at all. He was afraid of a lot of things, and she should've known that commitment would be on the very top of his list. Oh, she should've expected – she never should've accepted his proposal in the first place. But she thought – 'hoped' would be a more fitting word, actually – she hoped that she could change him, that she could make him happy, because living a life of constantly running away was so depressing to Sophie. She thought that he was running away from things that would make him happy because he didn't think he deserved being happy – maybe that was what he was doing right now, with all this not-attending-his-wedding business.

Or maybe she was giving herself too much credit. Who was she to assume that she knew him well enough to read his mind? Maybe he simply decided he didn't want her anymore, didn't love her anymore, maybe he simply decided that he **never** loved her at all. Oh, but that last thought was simply too hurtful to dwell on anymore. _Where are you now?_ Sophie had a habit of assuming many, many things. Now, she assumed that everything – every single little thing – was her fault. She never deserved him, anyway – he was so **beautiful** – and it was common knowledge that plain, dull girls like her did not have any right to look at beautiful people, let alone hope for their love.

The thing that hurt the most was that she had already planned out her whole life thinking that he would always be by her side. She saw herself finally achieving her dream of building a quaint flower shop on the corner of Burke and Bourbon, and he would be there on the first day, congratulating her with one of his kisses that always seemed to turn her into a puddle of mush. She saw herself giving birth to his child, shrieking obscenities and death threats at him for getting her pregnant when she was at fault too (_but it was always fun to yell at him,_ she thought with a small, broken smile) and squeezing his hand lethally while he pecked her soothingly on the forehead, on the nose, on the eyelids – everywhere. She saw herself growing old with him, making his coffee just the way he liked it (_no_ _sugar, one tablespoon of Coffee-mate's French Vanilla coffee creamer_) because he would be too sleepy in the morning; she envisioned herself dying on the inside, even though she was in perfect health, when he died of old age, since it was only proper that he die first because he was older.

None of this was possible now, because she would never see him again. She would go far, far away, away from this little, unknown town in Wales, away from the oh-so-painful memories, away from him. Sophie wanted so much to forget, because right now, the ache of losing him and the thought of never being able to hold him again was beating the yearning to find him and beg him to love her again by a landslide. She was afraid of being shattered again, anyway, if she did the latter. She didn't think she could handle any more of the hurt. It was too much, too much for the once-fiery Sophie. She was broken, and it was nobody's fault but hers.

A faint rustle and a light sound of a footstep told Sophie that someone had sat down beside her, but she didn't even bother to turn her head and find out who it was, because did it really matter? She could really make do without the pity that was sure to be in that person's eyes. Didn't they understand that she was already **drowning** in her own self-deprecation? What else did they want from her? Oh, she had already lost so much today.

"Sophie," Sophie allowed herself to be surprised, but just a little, when she heard Megan's voice. The two of them weren't really on very good terms with each other, and Sophie wondered what she has come here for. To gloat? To tell her 'I told you so'? Sophie couldn't say that she blamed the older woman; a small, almost-nonexistent part of her wished that she had listened to his sister. She should've acknowledged the fact that Megan knew him more than anybody else did. But, then again, she highly doubted if she would trade even a minute of her time with him for anything else in the world.

Sophie didn't hate Megan. She didn't dislike her, either, not even just a little bit. But looking back at their past interactions, she had to admit that she admired her for being able to instill such a great fear into her younger brother, and Sophie was slightly jealous that someone actually had the power to intimidate him as much as Megan did. Sophie was also jealous because Megan and her family was the only proof that he actually fulfilled his responsibilities - albeit grudgingly, most of the time. But, most of all, she was jealous, to a most heartrending degree, because he would never leave them permanently. Sure, he avoided having to see Megan and swore that she was evil, but at the end of the day, when all was said and done, he would still come back to them anyway, if only to tease Neil and put Mari to sleep. Thinking of Megan's children only succeeded to add to the throbbing ache in her chest because they had already earned a place in her heart, but she had decided that in order to successfully forget him, she'd have to cut off any and all connections he had with her.

"I'm sorry, Sophie. I really, really am. When I see that incorrigible man I am going to give him the most excruciating verbal beating he's ever had in his life, and I'll bring him back to you, Sophie. Don't you worry, because I know that he loves you and you really are the best thing that's ever happened to him, and that man has never once in his life known what was good for him, anyway –"

"Please," Sophie whispered in a cracking voice, "I-I don't want to talk about him." The redhead was grateful – truly, sincerely grateful – for Megan's support. Earlier that day, it was her who had acted indignant and furious in Sophie's stead, shouting at the guests to stay where they were and insisting that the show will go on, while Sophie was busy wallowing in her grief and staring dazedly into empty space. And it was not because – of this Sophie was confident – it was not because Megan was scared of gaining a tarnished reputation for having an ill-mannered sibling. Sophie had sensed the honest compassion and pure wretchedness that Megan felt.

"Give him another chance, Sophie. Please, just one last chance. He doesn't realize how much he's losing when he didn't attend today. You're the one woman that he's ever truly loved – I know this, I've watched him grow his entire life – and we have to make him understand. Without you, he can never truly be happy again, I know it. There have been many times when Howell has been lost, he just needs a little nudge to go in the right direction, and he never was good with sorting his own feelings out. You just have to help him, you're the only one capable, Sophie."

Sophie wanted to scream at Megan, to tell her to shut up, to slap her, anything to make her stop. The prospect of being able to look at this on a brighter note didn't appeal at all to Sophie, and she's had just about enough of hoping only to get her hopes dashed away in the past hours. She wanted so much to believe in Megan's words, to dream once again of raising children and spending her life with him, but she knew now that Sophie Hatter was never destined for happiness. So she might as well just stop fantasizing now for the greater good, and also for her sake, because Sophie Hatter could only take so much. It was such a stupid idea, to give him another chance, because she was sure he'd only laugh at her and tell her 'Don't call us, we'll call you,' and then slam a door in her face. Sophie asked herself if she had misjudged Megan and praised her too highly when she said that Megan knew him more than anyone else. Clearly, Megan didn't know that, now that he had run away from her, he won't ever take her back into his arms, won't ever look back.

But instead of lashing out, she spoke in a quiet, monotonous voice thick with unintentional coldness, "Leave. Please leave me alone." A gust of frosty wind blew across the landscape, further proof of an impending shower, and Sophie shivered without even being conscious of the action, although she was quite sure it was not from the chill. She hugged herself tightly, desperately, and bit her lip to stifle a choke that threatened to escape her quivering mouth. When she dared glance to her right, she found out that she was alone. _Alone again. I suppose I'd better get used to it. _

Sighing wistfully, she leaned back, supporting herself by planting her palms firmly on the ground behind her, and stared up at the sky, with its different hues of orange, red, yellow, and even faint blues. "Pitter, patter," she softly murmured, closing her eyes as she welcomed the icy bitterness of the drops that began to fall from the sky, a strong, unyielding rain that promised to drench any mortal that had the nerve to even think that they could best it. Bits of ginger hair clung to her face and she felt the liquid soak through her clothes and continue to her skin in a matter of minutes. To think that the sky had been a wonderful display of colors just a while ago. Now it was a dreary, sorrowful gray that comforted Sophie in a way any other person couldn't have. She'd never thought the rain could be such a wonderful companion.

-

_"I love you." _

_He spares her a glance over his bare, sinewy shoulder. They had just made love for the first – and only – time before the wedding. _

_She spots the almost imperceptible spark of fear in his blank, green eyes and sighs, brushing back a wayward strand of hair from her forehead. She tries to smile reassuringly. It turns out to be more of a grimace than anything else. _

_"It's okay. You don't have to say anything back. I don't want to ask for things that you're not ready to give. I… I just wanted to tell you that," she guarantees him. _

_He is too relieved to see through her lie. In truth, she had hoped that she would finally hear those three words from his mouth, too. They say that actions speak louder than words, and he has already proven himself in that department, but a selfish part of her needed his words to cling on to, because sometimes she just isn't certain anymore. _

_She turns away from him, clutching the silk of his sheets to herself in an act of modesty, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes. As a wave of his scent washes over her, sandalwood and something else decidedly masculine that she could not define, she presses her lips together to stop a sob that overtakes her suddenly-dry throat. _

_He plants his hand on her shoulder and coaxes her to face him, and she looks at the space behind him to avoid his probing gaze. She is sure she will break down if she doesn't. _

_When she feels his soft fingertips caressing the line where her jaw and neck met, she whimpers against her will and curls up into a ball instinctively, burying her face in her palms. _

_He freezes for a long moment before tightening his grip, taking her fully into his arms to draw her closer to his chest, tracing exquisite patterns on the small of her back. _

_"What is it, cariad? What's wrong?" he whispers, his breath fluttering over the sensitive shell of her ear, and she shivers. Although his voice is tender, she makes out a demanding note that promised an unpleasant fate to whoever had caused her tears. _Oh, but you know him too well, _she chides him, but doesn't actually say it out loud, _the cause of my distress is right here, in front of me.

_"I'm afraid," she finally manages. He starts to stroke her hair without realizing it, and as she looks up at him hesitantly, she sees that his jaw has tightened and there was something dangerous gleaming in his eyes. _

_"There is no need for that, sweeting. I'll protect you from every evil in this world." _

_She opens her mouth to say 'I love you' again, but abruptly closes it, only too aware that if she did so, it would only give him another opportunity to break her heart with his silence or attempts at changing the subject. _

I love you, Howl. I love you, I love you, I love you, _she comforts herself with telling him in her mind, where he would not hear her. _

-

Sophie cursed her treacherous brain for reminding her of the certain memory, then smiled bitterly. _How ironic that you should be the one to introduce me with the greatest evil of all when you promised to protect me – heartbreak. It's only fitting, though. You never were the kind of person who would be considered for a medal of honesty. _Finally, she let the crystalline tears fall from her eyes, her only consolation the fact that no one would be able to tell she was weeping because of the rain.

**- - - - - **

**;;Author's Note//** Hrm. So there you go. My attempt at HowlSophie. I do believe this is a first in the Howl/Sophie writing community, to write an Alternate Universe set in modern times. I was toying with the idea in my brain for a couple of days and then said, What the heck, why don't I give it a try? And thus Stardust was born. My goal is to have a total of twenty to twenty-five chapters, with at least 4ooo words apiece, except for the Prologue and Epilogue, since those are generally shorter than normal chapters. I don't have a certain time limit, because that'll just make me not write.

…Well, um, I have nothing much to say.

But I do have a question for YOU! Yes, YOU! So, Sophie starts out as twenty-two, in this Prologue, but then she shifts to twenty-seven because next chapter will fast forward to five years ahead. Since Howl is approximately nine years older, should I make him thirty-one in the Prologue, and then thirty-six next chapter? Would you rather I go by the book and make the age difference nine years, or lower it down to two or three years? Personally, I prefer going with the book because… I don't know, because it's the real thing, but then again, a thirty-six year old Howl (although I'm sure he'll still be as angelic-looking as ever; I doubt there'll even be a single wrinkle in sight)? So… feedback on that little predicament will be appreciated :D.

And that's a wrap. Thank you for reading the twisted creations of my demented mind.


	2. Ghost From The Past

**;;Disclaimer//** I do not own _Howl's Moving Castle_, merely borrowing its characters for my own selfish purposes.

**;;Summary//** When he didn't show up for their wedding day, she was disappointed, but not at all surprised. Five years later, in a cruel twist of fate, they see each other again, and Sophie struggles to hold together the pieces of the fragile life she's built, not only for her, but also for her child – _their _child.

**;;Warnings//** Alternate Universe – this is a contemporary fanfic. Ratings subject to change. Great amounts of drama in future chapters.

**- - - - -**

**Stardust**

by DaReChRa

**Chapter I - Ghost From The Past**

**- - - - -**

Sophie could honestly say that she regretted asking Morgan to be her alarm clock. Not only did he **not** have a button that allows one to shut it up for five minutes, at the least, but an alarm clock wouldn't have been as persistent either. As she lay there contemplating whether she should actually buy one for seven dollars at the nearest Wal-Mart, she felt her son tugging relentlessly on the blanket that she had buried herself so securely in. When he succeeded in getting it off, she curled into a ball and defiantly covered her ears with her pillow. Morgan, in a show of stubbornness that was not unlike her own, opened the blinds to welcome the sunlight, which filtered even through her firmly-closed eyelids. With small, but deft, fingers he somehow maneuvered the pillow from her frantic grasp, cutting off her only protection from the approaching day, and with strength that should be illegal for a five year old to have, hoisted her up into a sitting position.

But, then again, no alarm clock in the whole world could have been half as efficient as her child was.

Not to mention that he did all of that without a single noise coming out of his mouth. Sophie allowed herself a diminutive surge of pride at his cleverness and capability. This was quickly replaced by annoyance as he pulled on her right hand with both of his. Hard. _Note to self: buy alarm clock._ Opening her eyes with blatant difficulty, she observed the wall clock that hung above her closet, staring at it for a whole minute without comprehending. She stumbled upon landing on the cold linoleum floor, having been successfully pulled out of bed, albeit with much reluctance on her part.

_Oh, my Go - it's seven o' clock already? _Throwing the comforter that remained tangled with her legs back on the bed, she hurriedly bent down to kiss Morgan on the forehead in a silent 'thank you', wishing him a good morning on her way out of the bedroom door. She realized now that an alarm clock wouldn't do, after all. Sophie slept like the proverbial log and nothing but pokes and unrelenting pushes could rouse her, features that any inanimate object in its right mind wouldn't have. Every single morning, she went through that entire business of grouching and whining as her son woke her, and _just buy the damn alarm already, _but it always ended up with her walking her son to Mrs. Lee – however random that may sound – and coming to terms with the fact that anything else simply wouldn't manage to persuade her to get up and go to work other than Morgan.

Everyday, he reminded her of how **badly** she needed to carry out her job properly, because they needed the income more desperately and absurdly than anyone else does. With Morgan's schooling and food and the monthly bills and taxes, they barely had enough leftover for the leisurely kinds of things a kid is supposed to be experiencing as they grow up. A tinge of guilt stirred somewhere in Sophie's chest as she recalled his last birthday, when all she could afford to buy for him was a little, round chocolate cake. _You're a horrible mother. Morgan deserves better than that. _Even as she acknowledged how true that was, she couldn't find it in herself to send him back to Wales, where, surely, he would live a better and more luxurious life. He was her whole life, the one reason she has to face the coming day, the one thing that kept her standing. The mere thought of losing him twisted her heart in a way nothing else could.

Every time she looked at him, though, the joy of having someone who actually reciprocated her caring gestures and love mingled with the anguish of times past. Sophie had no doubt that Morgan was **his **child, not just because she knew that she had only ever slept with one man her entire life, but also from the striking resemblance he bore when compared to his father. Morgan had the same head of blond hair that refused to be tamed – he always looked as if he had just gotten out of bed – the same natural grace that'd always accompanied Howl's every move, and the exact marble-like emerald gaze. Oftentimes, she found herself flinching whenever she met her son's eyes, scared by the flash of unbidden and painful memories that they triggered, and the unwanted feelings they caused. At the tender age of five, Morgan was wise beyond his years, and it always was as if he understood everything Sophie felt, everything Sophie would need, even before she knew it herself. With a rueful chuckle that was lost over the sounds of water rushing out of the showerhead, she wondered what she had done to receive such a magnificent angel to watch over her.

Perhaps she needn't wonder about such things. She was more than worthy of the happiness Morgan's presence gave her, after all the sorrow she had to endure – oh, but Sophie didn't, **couldn't**, allow herself to remember again.

A quarter of an hour later found Sophie out of the bathroom, in clothes that were obviously picked without a care for how dull she would look in them. Her hair, which had darkened to an almost-brown over the years, was slung haphazardly over her shoulder, still dripping. Furiously, she tried rubbing it dry with a towel as best as she could. There would be no more time to attempt to use a hair dryer – she never liked those anyway. It only accomplished one thing: turning her head into a giant, moving frizz-ball. Upon reaching the kitchenette, she felt her lips curving into a touched smile as her eyes landed on a slightly chipped ceramic bowl containing corn flakes sitting on the rickety oak table. A plastic pitcher of milk was neatly placed to the side.

All too aware that she only had another fifteen minutes before she and her son had to leave, she hastily plopped down on one of the four stiff chairs and began her breakfast, barely stopping for breath. She was careful not to splash milk on her blouse (she vaguely recalled that it had once been a soft sky blue, but had, over the years, turned into a dull gray), for she would have no more time to change if ever she accidentally spilled. By 7:30, she had already accomplished brushing her teeth, gathering her damp auburn hair in a sloppy ponytail at the base of her neck, and throwing on a light jacket to fight off the autumn chill.

"Morgan, it's time to go," Sophie called out in a normal-toned voice. Their home, a dwelling that boasted a measly five rooms in all, was small enough to carry her request all throughout. As he emerged from his room, clutching his backpack by one of its straps, Sophie asked him to come closer to her so she could help him put on his wool sweater.

Hand in hand, mother and son stepped out of the apartment and down two flights of stairs. The only elevator in their seven-story building was out of order and had been since last year, the landlord deeming its repair unworthy of his attentions. Sophie wasn't particularly bothered; their apartment was situated on the fourth floor and using the stairs was the only exercise she had any time for lately, not that she had a say in the matter at all. They reached room 224 on the second floor and rang the doorbell.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lee," Sophie chirped cheerfully to the plump old lady who opened the door. Mrs. Lee was a woman in her early sixties who had yellowing skin and mostly gray hair interspersed with black that was always kept in a neat bun. She had a kindly way about her that made a person feel welcome. Although she had no job to speak of aside from looking after Morgan during the hours that Sophie could not attend to him, Mrs. Lee managed to scrape by on the fifty-dollars-per-day she got from baby-sitting. It also helped that she had no one to sustain but her granddaughter Minna and herself. Minna, a girl with hair the color of a raven's feathers and big brown eyes, was only a few months younger than Morgan and was undoubtedly his best friend. The two had known each other since Mrs. Lee had moved into _Bentley Apartments _three years ago and were inseparable ever since. Unlike her son, though, Minna was as childish and playful as a five year old should be.

"Oh! Sophie, Morgan. Come in, come in," she hobbled out of the way to make room.

"Oh, no, Mrs. Lee, I'll be on my way or I'll miss the 7:40 train to the bookstore." Everyday Mrs. Lee offered and everyday Sophie declined. Mornings were always a blur, and Sophie had to hurry or the current would take her by surprise. "Bye, Morgan. Love you, honey," she bent to kiss him on the top of his head, and the moment was done before it had even started. The familiar feeling of loneliness and guilt swept through her as she thought about how little time they spent together. She willed it away and turned to Mrs. Lee. "Bye, Mrs. Lee. Say hi to Minna for me," and with that she turned around to go.

"Love you, too, Mom! Take care!" she heard Morgan call after her.

Once she reached the bottom floor and stepped outside, she surveyed the scenery out of habit. The sidewalk was littered with smudges of orange and red and yellow, tears the trees have wept at the thought of a bitter winter. Silence enveloped the air suspiciously, as it always had. They lived in a section of New York City that was occupied by the less fortunate families who didn't have the money nor the time for the city's sparkling nightlife, zooming vehicles, and its eccentric people's leisurely ways. Cars rarely, if ever, wandered to Sophie's neighborhood, and its inhabitants were always hard-pressed to remain imprisoned in the safety of their households.

With an impatient sigh, Sophie wondered if she could ever give her child the kinds of things she wanted to give him.

-

The good thing about working in _Reader's Haven_ was that Sophie actually enjoyed it. She got to spend her days in relative peace and quiet, and she was never the kind of child to despise reading and abhor the notion of having to visualize what was going on in the story instead of just watching it run its course in the form of a screen. Words did a better job at capturing the characters' thoughts and feelings, anyway, when compared to just watching an actor's face and try to guess what was going through their head. If the need for a higher-paying job wasn't so great, she would have just loved to stay there forever.

Her co-worker, Karen, sat beside her behind the small counter, noisily rearranging her knickknacks in an effort to gain Sophie's attention. Sophie, used by then to all the fuss Karen made when she was out of amusing things to do – which usually occurred everyday, as Karen was not the type to enjoy solitude and made such a big deal of it when she was sufficiently bored – expertly ignored her and resumed once again to lose herself in her novel with no problem at all. Karen was the kind of person who had not an ounce of embarrassment whatsoever. She was a year younger than Sophie and had just finished college, and looked to the bookstore as a means of getting money to pay rent, not as a dream job that she would want to spend the rest of her life with. Karen was just waiting until a better work opportunity came along, and she had the confidence to believe – no, she had the confidence to **know** that she was destined for greater things.

Losing her concentration as Karen slammed down a container of pencils and other writing utensils, Sophie frowned and reread the sentence she was on. Papers shuffled not-so-discreetly and the steady sound of a foot tapping to an unknown rhythm reached Sophie's ears. Stubbornly, Sophie lost all consciousness of the outside world – and Karen – and returned to the fantasy world the book so generously offered. The clacking of nails against wood panels and an off-key hum harshly dragged her back to reality.

"Oh, for God's sake, Karen, you act for all the world as if you're twenty years younger than you really are!" Sophie glared at her, but all she got in reply was a triumphant grin that curved Karen's lips. "I have no time for your desperate pleas of help. What is it now?"

The grin developed into outright laughter as Karen surveyed the furious woman before her. "You have such a temper, Sophie. It's the only thing that entertains me during these long days of eternal silence."

Sophie slouched back to the hard back of her chair and regarded her friend through narrowed eyes. "Karen, you should really consider finding something else to occupy your time. No matter how tedious reading may seem to you, I happen to enjoy it and prefer it over your childish antics."

"If I act like I am twenty years younger, you, Miss Hatter, act forty years older," Karen remarked as she crossed her arms over her chest, looking like a kitten who was deprived of its quarterly dose of milk. "There is such a thing in the world as fun, you know."

"That is exactly my point. Some people actually enjoy books, Karen, unlikely as that may sound. I **am **having fun, sitting on this stiff plastic chair, reading while my neck becomes sore from slouching over my novels. Everyone has a different way of letting loose, and some people are more subdued in their hobbies than others," Sophie said, though she was quite sure she lost the other's attention when she uttered the fourth word of her lecture. "Well, will you look at the time! Midday, already? My, how quick time flies when you're having **fun**!" Sophie teased, and then reminded Karen that it was her turn to get their food because she went yesterday.

"What do you want me to get for you?" Karen asked just before she was out the door, a bell chiming as she pulled it open.

Sophie didn't look up from her book. "I have the oddest little craving for ravioli with marinara sauce."

Fifteen minutes after Karen's departure, Sophie suddenly remembered that there was a new stack of books, just delivered yesterday, that she had intended to place in the shelves today. Saving her place with a paper clip – it was the closest thing to a bookmark within hand's reach – she made her way to the back storage room and carried one of the three boxes out. Briefly struggling, she shifted the package in her hands and jumped in surprise when the bell chimed in alarm.

"Back so soon, Karen?" Sophie called out. "I hadn't expected you for another twenty minutes." She walked carefully toward the front of the store, intending to ask what had brought about the speedy return. Maybe there was a commotion, a car crash or something of the sort, that drew the influx of people from the restaurants at noon and which therefore allowed Karen to buy the food without having to waiting in line.

As soon as she saw who it was, however, all thoughts of car crashes and Italian pasta and book sorting flew from her mind and scrambled in twelve different directions.

He stood not three feet away from her, staring at her blankly. His eyes were still as glassy as she remembered, still the same mint green that could read her mind if he so wished. The same guardedness was on his aristocratic, chiseled face, preventing anyone from interpreting his thoughts and feelings. He was dressed extravagantly, as always, in a periwinkle shirt made of silk that somehow made his eyes bluer and black trousers that clung to his long, elegant legs. His hair was an inch or two longer than it had been when she last saw it, and it was neatly combed as opposed to when it had been unkempt and disheveled five years ago.

Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she realized that her mouth had fallen partially open and she could not draw in even a single breath. It felt as if ice was coursing through her veins instead of blood, and her heart was throbbing painfully, as if it was being stabbed with a thousand needles. Her back stiffened and she could no longer keep a steady grip on the box, causing it to fall and tumble sideways, the books spilling artlessly over the lacquered floor. She managed to grip the counter a split second before her knees buckled, before she crumpled into an ungraceful pile on the ground.

At one point in time, this man had made her the happiest woman in the world. At another point in time, this man had shattered her happiness with such accuracy and cold cruelty that it still made her eyes sting at the slightest mention.

He lingered in that spot leisurely, confidently, all too aware of his regal beauty and his sensual virility. Oh, but she was already so happy, so content, now. She had a son that made every suffering worthwhile, made every little moment precious. She loved her quiet, low-paying job. She appreciated the friendships she had established with Mrs. Lee, Karen, and even little Meena. This man was a threat to everything she held dear.

Even as she cursed at him in her mind, even as she clenched her fists to fight off the urge to slap him, punch him, shout hurtful words and make him go away, she felt something stirring inside her. Something that she thought had been buried a long time ago, something that she thought had already turned into dust and scattered into the wind to be lost forever, something overwhelming, something deadly. Something that would surely lead to her demise if she let it take control of her again. She ruthlessly squashed the feeling down.

There was no flash of recognition, no attempt at small talk, not even - Sophie didn't know what to expect. Ever since the disaster half a decade ago, she never thought that she would ever see him again. She moved to a completely different country, a completely different continent, to avoid the misery that was sure to follow her everywhere if she continued to stay in Springville. Everything about that little town reminded her of him. And now he was right there, practically within arms' reach, in the flesh.

And it looked as if he was coming closer.

Frozen like a deer caught in headlights, she did the only thing that came to mind.

She fled.

-

"Sophie! Sophie, where are you?" a muffled groan, the creak of a door knob, "Sophie, are you in there? Open up!"

At the sound of her friend's voice, Sophie unsteadily stepped away from the door, blinking as Karen shuffled into the storage room, her hands on her hips. Her glare slowly disappeared as she noted Sophie's trembling form, her breathing erratic, her face contorted in a poignant mixture of pain and sadness, her hands over her heart, as if trying vainly to calm it down.

"Is. . . Is he still there?" the voice was soft and crackly, and a lump was in her throat, making it hard for her to speak articulately or breath evenly.

Concern immediately overtook Karen's features. "What? Who are you talking about? Has there been someone here?" She moved closer to Sophie and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "What is it, sweetie? You're shaking like a leaf! Was it a thief?"

"So he left, then," Sophie whispered, reprimanding herself inwardly for how dismayed she sounded. She wasn't supposed to be **disappointed**, of all things, that he hadn't stayed and attempted to put things to rights with her. She shouldn't have expected so much from him. But her heart - oh, her treacherous heart - couldn't help but hope, desperately, that he could do something to ease the numb part of her that she'd been carrying for all these years. She didn't think that it was possible for her to ever be free without letting go of that one chapter of her life that she was reminded of every single second she was with or thought about her son. So far, she was doing a pretty bad job at letting go.

"Who? Who is it, Sophie?" Karen asked, more than a little panicked. "You're worrying me."

Perhaps. . . Perhaps she had just hallucinated. Perhaps it was someone that looked exactly like him. Perhaps she was thinking that he was right there in front of her, solid and larger than life, when really, she was just looking at thin air. It certainly wasn't the first time she had seen him when he really wasn't there. He plagued her dreams more often than she could have tolerated, she saw him every time she looked at her child. He was there, all the time, a mirage that kept her from forgetting that she had once loved, and that she had loved and lost.

When he stood there a while ago though, looking at her with those mesmerizingly incandescent eyes, she had believed that he was more real than anything else in the world.

But that was naught but a distant memory now. Her life wasn't just hers anymore. She lived for Morgan, too, and she had to keep moving forward. No doubt this was just the first of a long series of episodes in which she imagined that he was there, gazing at her in the way that made her involuntarily ache with deep longing. It would do her good to learn how to overcome that particular weakness of hers.

"Nothing. It was nothing," Sophie lied, concluding that it had, indeed, been just a figment of her imagination. ". . . Nothing but a ghost from the past."

She smiled reassuringly at Karen, then gently pushed her away, recalling that she still had an ample amount of books to sort and that she had planned to finish it before she went home at eight o' clock, and that she had - in her moment of insanity - accidentally dropped it to the floor and still had to pick it all up.

And when she reached the front desk, she saw a box of perfectly arranged books, set neatly by the counter.

- - - - -

**;;Author's Note// **Rawr! I am so mad!! To all of you wondering where I've been for the past _month_, waiting for my update, I am terribly, terribly sorry. I lost my internet for a whole week a few days after I posted _Stardust_'s Prologue, then got it back for a whole week, then lost it again for approximately two more weeks. So, you see, dear reader, I haven't had the opportunity to work on it, really. Darn internet providers. Seriously, sorry for having disappointed all you guys out there waiting for Chapter One. I know how frustrating it gets when an author takes five months just to get one chapter out. I'm trying really hard not to be that kind of person. Aside from that, I already had half of the chapter written out, but I erased about one thousand words from it because it didn't seem right. The people in the story were out of character and it didn't seem to flow. And I'm uncomfortable with posting chapters when it doesn't have an OK from a beta-reader, and I still don't have a beta-reader (to all beta-readers out there interested, please see my profile for more details).

To my dear reviewers, really, thank you, thank you, thank you. You don't know how much writing drains from me. It literally takes me thirty minutes just to write a paragraph. You guys have been the sugar that kept me going. Thank you for your thoughtful comments, it has been really helpful. I sincerely hope I hadn't driven you off because of my long update, and stay tuned for more. I have _so much_ planned out for this story. The best is yet to come. :D

And did you guys understand the 'box of perfectly arranged books' at the end? Do you get the symbolic meaning of that? If you don't, then tell me, because it's very important that you understand the box of perfectly arranged books at the end of this chapter!


	3. Real

**;;Disclaimer//** I do not own _Howl's Moving Castle_, merely borrowing its characters for my own selfish purposes.

**;;Summary//** When he didn't show up for their wedding day, she was disappointed, but not at all surprised. Five years later, in a cruel twist of fate, they see each other again, and Sophie struggles to hold together the pieces of the fragile life she's built, not only for her, but also for her child – _their _child.

**;;Warnings//** Alternate Universe – this is a contemporary fanfic. Ratings subject to change. Great amounts of drama in future chapters.

**- - - - - **

**Stardust **

by DaReChRa

**Chapter II - Real **

**- - - - - **

_"…and in other news, internationally acclaimed actor Howell Jenkins – who has gained six nominations in the Academy Awards **and** the British Academy of Film and Television Arts, three of which he won, in the short period of four and a half years that he has been in the acting business – was sighted on the streets of our very own New York City yesterday, sporting a –"_

"Morgan!" Sophie called out, scrambling to get up from her bed, on which she had been laying for the past hour, looking dismally at the ceiling as if it held the answers to her many, many questions. She hurried to the living room, where Morgan was sitting carelessly on the battered leather couch, the hand that held the remote still pointed at the television. He must have been flipping through the twenty-three channels that they had again, and now that something had caught his attention, he was looking at the screen intently, his head tilted in confusion.

As Sophie stopped to stand beside him, she tried to keep the panic from her voice as she said, "Morgan, I-it's time to pick Minna up. Why don't you go ahead and get –" she flinched when her eyes automatically strayed to the TV and caught a glimpse of a blond man, wearing dark sunglasses and a slightly crooked baseball cap; she turned away with apparent haste and continued, "Go ahead and get ready . . . We're going out today."

Morgan seemed not to hear a word she said. His brows drew together and a frown tugged on his lips. "Who is that, Mom? Have I ever seen him in person before?"

_"…after having spent his three-week vacation in Wales with his sister's family, has come to the Big Apple, where the filming of his fifth movie, 'The Paragon', is to take place…"_

"Wales . . ." he muttered under his breath, and Sophie could almost see the gears and cogs in his head spinning furiously, "Mom, that's where Aunt Lettie and Grandma and Aunt Martha live, isn't it?"

"M-Morgan," Sophie croaked, "Honey, we're going to be late. Minna's going to wonder where we are. Come on, change into some warm clothes and we'll fetch her." She attempted to keep up a nonchalant façade, but even to her own ears her voice sounded fragile and she was sure that her face was bare of all color. Taking a deep breath – and then another . . . and then another – she pleaded her senses to function normally. If Morgan happened to glance her way and see her condition, he would no doubt worry excessively. And then he would no doubt coax the truth out of her, a gift that he was born with, and find out what was bothering her.

It was hard, there was no question about it, to keep something like Howl's identity from Morgan. Howl has become a cinematic sensation ever since his debut as a supporting role in the box office hit 'In The Last of Places', and has earned himself legions upon legions of fans, mainly composed of adoring women (and even men). Stories centering around him appeared often on newspapers, magazines, television, and on radio stations. Sophie wouldn't put it past Morgan to piece two and two together. After all, he was the smartest child in his class, and perhaps it had to do with a sort of father-son bond that Sophie couldn't possibly hope to comprehend.

Sooner or later, Morgan was sure to start asking for answers she wasn't certain she was – or ever would be – ready to give. Sophie had often seen Morgan around other families – families that had both a mother and a father – and she recognized the shrewd and curious attention he gave to them. She did realize that he wasn't going to stay a naïve little boy forever, and she had submitted herself to the fact that when that time comes, she had no choice but to tell him the truth about his father, but could she really be blamed for wanting to postpone that moment for as long as she could?

If her son was to learn that Howl Jenkins, actor extraordinaire, was a significant part of his life, there was no telling what Morgan would do. He might want to – God forbid that he would ever have the desire to – meet his father and introduce himself to Howl, and tell Howl of his mother, Sophie. Sophie didn't know what on earth she would do if she ever got herself into **that** predicament. Howl may become angry with her for never telling him of Morgan's existence, of which he had a right to know about, or maybe he would just be indifferent and brush off the news like a piece of unwanted lint on his shirt. She didn't know which reaction was more preferable. Maybe there were hundreds of crazy women who came up to him every month and claimed to have his child. Sophie felt something unpleasant grip her heart at the thought that Howl would ever see her as one of those women who came after his fame and his money.

Sophie could do nothing but watch helplessly until the segment on Howl was over, replaced by a presentation on new technological gadgets coming out the next year. She had to clamp her mouth against the urge to beg him to shut the television, even **command **him to turn it off if necessary, but that would have accomplished nothing but make Morgan even more suspicious than Sophie feared he already was. Morgan said nothing and quietly turned the T.V. off when it was evident that it won't be showing any more on the blond movie star.

He distractedly went to his room, heeding his mother's wishes to get ready for the day ahead. Sophie was immensely relieved that he was too busy with his thoughts to recognize how hard she was trying not to shake in fear.

Ten minutes later, Morgan returned to the living room out of his pajamas and in a clean, striped polo shirt and a faded pair of jeans. Sophie, who had already been dressed accordingly for the past hour, was waiting at the door. Neither said a word as they put on their shoes, coats, and various other winter apparel. The weather forecaster had predicted an unusually low temperature for New York City's normal December, with maybe even a light sprinkle of snow further on in the afternoon. It seemed the perfect day to pay a visit to one of the ice rinks in Central Park.

Saturdays were days in which Sophie, Morgan, and Minna gave Mrs. Lee free time to do as she pleased. Sophie would take Minna under her wing and look over her until eight o' clock PM. Sometimes the three of them enjoyed outdoor activities, such as biking on half-mile tracks, or picnicking under the cool shade of Morgan and Minna's favorite oak tree, if the weather permitted them to do so. At other times, Sophie would take them to the library – those two just **loved** picture books – or they would window shop at the mall, and on lazy days all three would stay in Sophie's apartment.

"Morgan, you slowpoke!" – a childish squeal followed by a giggle – "You'll never catch up!" Minna clumsily but effectively maneuvered her way around the ice, her plaited black hair trailing wildly after her, all the while maintaining a considerable distance from Morgan. Morgan seemed not in the least bit threatened, smoothly gliding in a way that no other five-year old could have accomplished. Like his father, he had an innate ability to be an expert in everything he set his heart on.

With a smile that could have been described as part-malicious and part-playful, Morgan bent his knees, his back hunched, and took off.

Feeling rather than seeing him coming, Minna yelped and alarmingly skated away as fast as her little, awkward legs could take her. Sophie smiled, a little worriedly, from her place on the bench, resisting the urge to call out to them and tell them to stop horsing around. As young as those two were, they've been accustomed to ice-skating and could pull it off with an ample amount of ease. Sophie, herself, wasn't too shabby, but there were too many people scattered about the place, and she wasn't confident enough to risk her less-than-great skill. She was good enough when it came to skating straight forward, but actually turning or making those figure eights were a whole different matter.

So, instead, she resigned herself to staying in the background and observing the things going before her. It was disturbing, she realized, how much she could learn simply from watching the people in front of her. The young couple a few meters away to her right was experiencing the earliest waves of first love as they held each other and gazed affectionately into each other's eyes. Next to them was a family of four – two parents, one teen, and the youngest, whom they were teaching to skate – who was in their own world of butterflies and sunshine and flowers. Farther away was a solemn-looking man whose stance suggested that the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

And then, a little bit closer to Sophie, there was a green-eyed boy with hair the color of pale sunshine, smiling as brilliantly as any star. Behind his smile, she knew, lay a profound longing for a father.

-

At eleven o' clock that night, Sophie sat in the kitchen, piles of papers set in a haphazard clutter before her. Morgan and Minna were already sleeping like logs, tired from hours of doing nothing but sliding after one another on ice. Sophie could hear soft inhales and exhales coming from Morgan's room, where Minna was staying, and no sound at all from Morgan, who dozed off in Sophie's room.

As Sophie looked thoroughly over her phone bill, something caught her eye. _Oh, jeez, not again._ Apparently, she had been charged an extra sixteen ninety-nine for using the International Service, which she had never even **considered **ordering. Great. It'll take a good hour and a half to clear that up tomorrow. That's an hour and a half she could've spent bonding with Morgan.

With a groan, she tried without success to keep her mind from dwelling on the unfairness of the world. Whereas athletes who take steroids have servants who do everything for them and houses big enough to entertain five families, lil' old Sophie – who has never once in her life done anything even remotely bad (that one punch she gave in first grade to her classmate did not count; Emily was being a brat and was blatantly insulting her) – gets stuck with hundreds of bills every month. Now, where was the justice in that?

Attempting to rub the sleep from her eyes, Sophie fought the beginnings of what promised to be a terrible headache. When her doorbell rang, she jumped so violently that she fell from her chair. Mumbling obscenities under her breath, she picked herself up from the floor and wondered who in heaven's name would come calling at midnight.

She opened the door without bothering to look through the peephole, prepared to give whoever it was at the other side a verbal beating they'll never forget, and the sight that met her was so unanticipated that all she could do was blink.

They stared at each other for a whole minute, unwavering green meeting annoyed brown orbs, before Sophie rolled her eyes and sighed impatiently. "You know," she said to imaginary-Howl, "this is starting to get old." And then to herself, she muttered, "Oh, God, Sophie, now you're hallucinating that Howl Jenkins is coming to see you at eleven fifty-one PM. What's next? You wake up to a naked Howl in your bed?" She moved to close the door so she could get back to her mail, thinking about the possibility that she was dreaming.

Before she could completely block him out, however, he placed a firm hand on the door and leaned down so their faces were mere inches apart, and a familiar scent greeted her nostrils. _Sandalwood_, she thought, then was distracted when imaginary-Howl started talking in a voice that was exactly like real-Howl's. "Not a bad idea," he whispered softly – seductively even, Sophie was bemused to realize – "What do you say we get started on it?"

Sophie blinked once more, then blushed as she recognized the suggestive tone in his voice. "No, no, that's quite alright," she stammered, waving frantic hands in front of her, as if to ward him off.

He straightened with a slight smile, and just stood there, waiting expectantly.

"What is the point of this dream, anyway?" she mused out loud, not at all expecting an answer. Usually, her illusions of Howl would include a past memory of something they've done together. Now, imaginary-Howl was just . . . kind of standing there. "Am I going to wake up anytime soon?"

That seemed to amuse him more, and his smile turned into a grin. "Sophie."

"What?"

"You're not dreaming," imaginary-Howl said matter-of-factly.

_Like you'd know anything. You're just a hallucination_, Sophie thought, sensing the approach of her well-known companion: misery. "Of course I'm dreaming. Why else would you be here?" she stated, almost wistfully.

He must have caught the defeated tone in her voice, for he looked at her with something very similar to pity. She hated him for it. But mostly she hated herself. How pathetic she was! Even her imagination is trying to tell her something; even her imagination is feeling sorry for her. Is this really how worthless she's become over the years? She knew the answer to that question: both yes and no. She was the best mother she could be, Morgan was healthy and Sophie was sure that he was happy, but at the same time Sophie acknowledged that being completely happy with **herself** was an impossibility.

"Can you just leave me be, please?" she pleaded quietly with him, staring resignedly down at the carpeted floor beneath her. "I'm . . . I'm very tired."

She could feel his eyes glued to her bowed head, and when she glanced up to figure out what he was going to do next, she saw a thoughtful look on his face, as if he was inwardly debating something. With a final decisive nod to her, he gently brushed back a wayward lock of hair on her forehead and said, "I'll be back tomorrow. Get some rest, cariad." And with that, imaginary-Howl shut the door before her and was gone.

-

Early the next morning, Sophie woke with a stiff back from falling asleep in the kitchen and an uneasiness lingering in the pit of her stomach. As she straightened, she frowned at the mess of papers in front of her. At least she had finished all her bills last night. But by the time she'd sealed the last envelope, she couldn't even find the strength to go back to her room and instead had slumbered with her head and arms on the table.

Feeling restless and unsettled, she occupied herself with organizing her mail, placing each piece into its respective category. Inevitably, her mind wandered back to the night before. She tried to convince herself that it was just another mirage, certainly nothing special, but she couldn't quite shake off the feeling that there was something she hadn't been able to understand. When imaginary-Howl leaned closer to her and she'd recognized the whiff of sandalwood and male, when he spoke to her in the familiar low voice the real Howl used whenever he was trying to persuade someone into doing something, when he touched her lightly, hesitantly . . . well, her illusions had never before seemed so warm and alive and **real** as they were last night.

She restrained a groan of frustration. Why? Why does he haunt her, still? Why couldn't she bring herself to forget about him? He was a cowardly, no-good, histrionic scumbag. He lied to her, deceived her, coaxed her to trust in fairytale endings. He charmed her into falling for him, planned it so that her whole being revolved around him and only him. And then he left her hanging, right at the last minute. It was ingenious, she'd give him that. He left her right at the moment when she believed she would get her own happy ending. And in leaving her at that moment – on her wedding day – he had succeeded in breaking her in the most effective way.

So, why? Why, after all the pain and heartache, does she still treasure their memories? Why doesn't she forget about him and move on?

The questions were unnecessary. She knew the answers as surely as she knew that her hair was ginger – not red gold, as she's always insisted it to be.

She still loved him. Blindly, irrevocably, truly – as much as she hated herself for it.

Shaking her head, she sauntered over to the couch and sat down, feeling miserable, sad, and just overall lousy. Finding nothing else to do, she turned on the TV and glared at nothing in particular when she was greeted with another news segment gossiping about the ever-popular Howell Jenkins. Didn't people have anything better to do than minding other people's business?

"Did you know him, Mom?" a quiet voice snapped her out of her annoyance. Morgan appeared in her line of view, perching on the empty space next to her. He looked contemplative and suspicious.

Instead of giving a straightforward answer – if she said yes, that would only prompt more questions; if she said no, he would see through her lie – Sophie countered with a question of her own, "Why do you ask, Morgan?"

" 'Cause I feel like I've met him before . . ." he replied. _Oh, my serious little genius, _she thought.

"Oh? Really, now?" she said in a tone people used when they were only politely intrigued.

Morgan sighed, perhaps realizing that he was not going to get any help from his mother. Minna arrived in the room, her hair mussed and her eyes, usually so wide and alive, drooped from the lasting remnants of sleep.

"G'morning, Sophie; g'morning, Morgan," she greeted half-heartedly.

The two responded accordingly and Sophie left the room, grateful for Minna's interruption. She made sure that the TV was turned to the Sunday cartoons, knowing that the little girl wouldn't give Morgan any chance to change it to any Howl-related shows. As she prepared breakfast, her mind foolishly returned to the night before.

The doorbell rang, and she called out to Morgan, requesting for him to attend to it for she was occupied with pancake batter. She heard him conversing quietly with another, their voice too low to discern, and when he entered the kitchen to inform her who'd come calling, his face was curiously blank.

"Mom," he said solemnly, "There's a Howl Jenkins wanting to see you in the living room."

**- - - - - **

**;;Author's Note// **Oh. My. Gosh. It's been months. You guys are all angry at me. It's terrible of me.

I must admit I lost interest in the story. But then I had an inclination to read the book again and my muses started slapping me in the face. A thousand sorry's couldn't be enough, I'm sure, but I hope this chapter, and the upcoming ones (-wince- wishful thinking), can make up for it.

As for the symbolism of the books, well, you guys got really serious about that. **:D** I shouldn't have said it was really _really_ important to know what it meant. I only wanted to get across that Howl was, indeed, in front of Sophie in the bookstore, because you know how she's deluding herself that what she was seeing was only a hallucination? Well, he's not. As most of you are already aware, I hope.

And, what's this? Howl, a movie star? Can't you see him fitting into the role perfectly, though? **:D** There was a period of time when I considered making him a rugby player, too. -wink-

Goodness gracious, will my sins never cease? As if my hiatus wasn't bad enough, I leave you with a cliffhanger, too??


	4. Shatter

**;;Disclaimer//** I do not own _Howl's Moving Castle_, merely borrowing its characters for my own selfish purposes.

**;;Summary//** When he didn't show up for their wedding day, she was disappointed, but not at all surprised. Five years later, in a cruel twist of fate, they see each other again, and Sophie struggles to hold together the pieces of the fragile life she's built, not only for her, but also for her child – _their _child.

**;;Warnings//** Alternate Universe – this is a contemporary fanfic. Ratings subject to change. Great amounts of drama in future chapters.

**- - - - -**

**Stardust**

by DaReChRa

**Chapter III – Shatter**

**- - - - -**

The bowl of pancake mix inadvertently came crashing to the ground with a ridiculously amplified _thud_. With shaking hands, Sophie gathered a dishrag, cursing her clumsiness, and tried to mop up the mess she'd made. _What a waste_, she thought regretfully. There was a curious, curious feeling in her stomach, as if her innards were trying to jump out of her skin. Surely, **surely**, she'd heard incorrectly.

She had fearfully awaited the day when she would hear that name come from her son's lips, and now that day had come. Unexpectedly, and unfair, because she'd not had any time to prepare for it at all. All she could do was wipe absently at the floor in shock, terrified. She would not believe it until she saw for herself.

Giving nary a thought to her outward appearance – her hair in a sloppy ponytail, her apron shabby from old age – she slowly made her way to the living room, a sense of foreboding creeping over her.

Morgan had not been in the wrong. She could see the back of _his_ head, blond as daylight, as he sat on the battered sofa, chatting amicably with a delighted Minna. Nostalgia and regret filled her as she remembered his relationship with Mari, how they'd been as close as could be, how he'd spoiled her rotten and how she'd looked at him with adoring eyes. It was all she could do not to jump out of the window. Morgan was here, watching her carefully, and she could not let father and son have any more interaction than the little time they'd had talking at the door, not if she wanted to come out of this ordeal with relative normalcy and the least amount of pain.

"Morgan, Minna," she said in a wavering voice; she hadn't wished to speak at all, for that would alert him to her presence, but what else could she do? The time for confrontation had come, and she had no way out. This was something she had to face alone, however. "Why don't you run over to Mrs. Lee's for a while?"

Protests came from the little girl, who was clearly enjoying herself in Howl's company, but Morgan cut her off tersely, taking her hand and walking out of the apartment with his unwilling friend. He didn't look back. Sophie wondered about his behavior. He'd acted so serious and. . . hostile – the complete opposite of his usual courteous demeanor. She put the matter aside and decided she would talk to him about it later. Right now . . .

Howl stood from his relaxed position and turned around to face her, a slight smile quirking his lips. She tried to return the gesture, but it came out forced, nervous. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. As it was, her brain was already on overload from all the emotions his visit had brought with him. She was afraid that if she looked into his eyes, she would break. Her hands balled into fists beside her. She'd already broken so much.

"Sophie." The voice was deep, hypnotizing, achingly familiar. She felt it from the hairs on her head down to the tips of her toes.

"S-sit, please," was all she could manage, waving a hand towards the sofa and wincing a little as she was reminded of its poor state. She didn't mind the thing so much – actually it was rather comfortable – but he was here. He'd always been so extravagant, vain, and – oh! The shock was slowly ebbing away from her head. He was here, in her apartment. . . Her small rat hole, just a tad better than living out on the streets. . . He was here. After five years –

She didn't want him here. She wanted him out. He had no right, absolutely none.

But her throat was rebelling, doing the exact opposite of what her mind insisted and completely ignoring the alarm bells ringing in her head. It was as if another force had taken over her – her body did not feel as if it belonged to her, her common sense had abandoned her, her wits had betrayed her.

"Would you like anything to drink?" she asked nervously, unsure. Avoiding eye contact must be her top priority, she thought as she glanced around the room busily. As it was, she could already feel the furious heat on her cheeks.

"No, thank you." That was all well and good. In any case, she had nothing in the refrigerator but water, milk, and orange juice, and she'd daresay that someone as accustomed to luxuries as he was would recoil at the thought of children's milk or – the horror – peasant water.

She was tempted to point out that he'd learned manners in the last five years, but didn't want to bring up any mention of their past, didn't want to face the grief that would follow such remembrances. She'd wanted, had tried so desperately, to forget that she'd ever even known him, but it proved to be as impossible as trying to stop the sun from following the moon, and the moon from following the sun.

"Come sit with me, Sophie," he said, his tone unreadable, as was expected. Even when they'd been as close as they were before, there were moments when she'd been unable to decipher a single expression from him, and it had scared her because then she'd think she really didn't know him at all. Which had proven to be true. "It's been a while."

She obliged him and sat down on the armchair opposite the sofa he reclined on, keeping her eyes on the tightly clasped fingers in her lap. "Yes," she agreed softly, "It has been quite a while, Howl."

She felt her eyes water as she realized the reaction of her body, her heart, her soul to his mere presence, even after all this time, but she took a calming breath and forced herself to be strong. She would not cry in front of him. She could very well do it when she was alone – in fact, she had done it countless times. The tears helped sometimes, but mostly they were so painful it was almost a physical hurt. Nevertheless, she'd long ago accepted that pain was a natural part of a person's life, that without it one could not appreciate the finer things in life, but she liked to believe that her pain was a little more than an average person was meant to have, and that she was only stronger for not letting it consume her. It wasn't significant that she'd broken herself a thousand times, only that she still desired to live, and that she lived with some semblance of happiness. Morgan had made that possible.

A silence, thick and the farthest thing from comfortable, settled over them, and her brain whirred trying to think of what to say. What does one say to someone they hadn't seen for five years? What does one say to an ex-fiancé? What does one say to the unknowing father of their five year old child? What does one say to someone they love who doesn't love them back?

He wasn't meant to do this. He was Howl, irresponsible, ruthless, heartless slitherer-outer. Yes, a selfish part of her had hoped that she would see him again, if only one last time, but she hadn't actually thought it would happen. When he abandoned her at the altar, he had wanted to be rid of her, didn't want to have anything to do with her – even if he hadn't said it in words his actions more than made up for it. Certainly a coward wouldn't seek her out, definitely not to beg for her return, definitely not because of a guilty conscience, definitely not because one day he remembered her and said, "Oh, yes, Sophie. . . Harriet, was it? Yes, Sophie Harriet, whatever happened to her?" and decided that he would find out for himself.

It was all wrong, him being here in her apartment. That just wasn't the person he was; he wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to never see him again and long for him for eternity, watch his success from afar. She had planned it all out quite splendidly, really. It was a little satirical of her to do so, a little cynical, and a lot heart-wrenching, but she wasn't saying that it was one of her greatest life achievements. She was supposed to live in relative peace and contentment with her son, and die an old, lonely maid. The prospect did not scare her that much, admittedly. She had subdued herself to her fate. Then Howl came and made her remember, made her heart flip strangely and her blood race enthusiastically, and made her want for more. She wasn't supposed to want for more. He wasn't supposed to make a reappearance. He wasn't supposed to ruin her plans for a second time. She hadn't thought he'd have an opportunity to do so.

That was one of the things he was good at, ruining her plans in a heartbreakingly proficient way. The first time he'd done it, he'd taught her the real meaning of pain, not a mere physical injury that would heal over time and would only leave a scar, but the kind that ripped her very soul apart and the kind that she still carried with her everywhere she went, the kind that she could not escape. But she thought she'd somewhat survived that, that with her son – her miracle, her life, her saving grace – she'd be able to go on and accept her past and all the ghosts that came with it. She was doing fine, up until now.

She was really making progress, being able to live through Morgan, through his achievements at everything he set his mind to, through her love for her child. She would never want to leave him. Then Howl had to come along and make a mess of everything once more – her emotions, her heart, her world. All it took was for him to sit there, nonchalantly, in her living room, and she shattered into pieces. Everything she'd worked for, all the emotional recuperating she'd been doing, gone with the wind. It hadn't even been five minutes yet.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, much to her dismay. He had so much power over her, and even after all his sins, he was still her puppeteer, and she was still naught but a limp marionette dangling on imprisoning strings.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, and she scrambled to find coherent words.

"Nothing," was her pathetic reply. There was no way she'd tell him she was resentful for his control over her, still intact even as an ocean has separated them for years.

Neither of them seemed compelled to say anything more, and for the hundredth time she wondered what he was doing here. She gathered her courage and braced herself to ask him that question herself, but he beat her to it.

"How have you been, Sophie?" he asked softly, reluctantly, as if he knew that he was treading on fragile ground with her, as if he sensed that any second now, she was going to do something she'd well regret – release all the emotions she'd bottled up inside her and cry and yell and do some physical damage, all at the same time. She wasn't a doll, damn it! He couldn't just play with her and, once he got tired of it, throw her away, and pick her up again if it suited his fancy. She was a human being, for God's sake, with real feelings and real dreams that were easily crushed if done by the right person.

"Fine." She tried to limit her words, say as little as she possibly could, because she didn't need him back – despite how much she **wanted** him back – and it was best if he didn't find out any more than was necessary.

Frustration flashed across his face, and was gone so fast she thought she'd imagined it. With him, she could never tell, but it was almost reflexive how she tried to decipher his emotions. She'd done it so often in the past that even now the habit hadn't fully left her.

"Oh?" he said, for some reason desiring to keep the conversation going. "Is that so? What have you been up to?"

Sophie was getting a little irritated now. All she wanted was for him to leave her be and the clod seemed determined to stay. **What** did he want from her? Was it too much to ask to let her nurse her wounds in peace?

"I work at a bookstore," she replied in a clipped voice.

Instead of exclaiming dramatically how her tone wounded him, a smile, almost sad, tugged at his lips, and tugged at her heartstrings. He looked so beautiful, with his features wistful, and he looked almost remorseful. Almost. She knew that he could control his emotions, to make himself look regretful or ecstatic if he so wished – in fact, that was his job, wasn't it? She should have hated him for deceiving her in such a manner, for hiding his real thoughts from her, but she could only hate herself for caring.

"I remember, Sophie," he said, and in his rich baritone her name sounded like an endearment. "I remember you told me that if money wasn't a concern, you would love to be a librarian." He laughed, and that, too, managed to sound melancholic, nostalgic. "And then you decided that you changed your mind and wanted to open a flower shop."

_On the corner of Burke and Bourbon_, she thought, thinking of times past and opportunities wasted and dreams shattered. The memories were so painful. . .

Abruptly, she stood up and turned her back on him, just in time to cover the tears that she could no longer restrain. She needed him to go **now**. Before she lost her control and demand why he'd left her five years ago, before she started begging him for an explanation – _why hadn't she been enough? _– before he completely obliterated all the defenses she'd set up around her heart, the very defenses that came crumbling down at the mere thought of him.

"Howl," she managed to get out in a choked voice. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Sophie –" he started, but she quickly interrupted.

"Please," she said in a tiny, broken whisper, pressing the palm of her hand to her mouth to ward off the sobs and trying to keep her shoulders from shaking. "Please."

To her immense relief and disappointment, she heard shuffling sounds that signaled he was on his way out. Before he walked out on her again, however, he spoke in a low, utterly serious voice.

"I'll be back, _cariad_. I'll be back for you."

-

Morgan returned not thirty minutes after Howl left, lips pressed together grimly, his eyes shining with suspicion. At that moment, Sophie knew she had to confirm what he'd already suspected, no matter how much she was against it. The moment of truth had arrived, had sneaked up on her and lunged viciously, without mercy.

He spotted her sitting on the armchair and she offered him a wobbly smile, her eyes still burning from freshly-shed tears. He didn't ask and she didn't try to explain.

"Morgan. . ." she began hesitantly, her voice hoarse.

"He's my father, isn't he?" he asked, so harshly that Sophie flinched at his tone. "Howell Jenkins is my father."

"Morgan, I'm sorry that I didn't tell you earlier. I –"

"No, Mom," he interrupted. "None of this is your fault. Not a single thing." He moved closer and scrambled to sit on her lap, wrapping his arms gently around her waist, so gently she was afraid she would cry from the tenderness of it. It was so unfair, to have this brought upon an angel such as her son, but right now she could only be grateful that she had him to lean on to. He might not be aware of it, but he was the one she drew strength from at times like this, when it seemed that the world would fall apart and there was no more point to tomorrow.

She hugged him to her heart, thankful, ashamed that he was the one who had to be strong for them, and afraid of what would come next now that there was this obstacle to overcome in front of them. No matter what, they would face it together.

"Morgan," Sophie spoke again. "You don't understand. There's a past here that you don't know about. Your father –" _Howl_, she was about to say, but it felt like a curse on her tongue, that if she openly said it he would materialize again and wreak havoc in their lives. "He's an honorable man," she said, thinking of his ease with his nephew and niece, and even Minna, who was a complete stranger. Would he have pampered his own son in such a way?

But that was too painful to think of – the what-could-have-beens and what-ifs – and she instead focused on closely examining Morgan's reaction.

He had a hostile look on his face, and disbelief was evident as he asked, "If he's such an honorable man, then why are we here right now, without him?"

"Morgan –"

"Or maybe I'm just one of the many children he's left fatherless," he continued heatedly.

"Morgan, that's enough!" Sophie knew that Morgan was angry, that he was confused and sad and experiencing a hundred other intense emotions, that he didn't understand what he was saying, but certain lines weren't meant to be crossed. As cowardly and dishonorable the man she'd known from before was, she couldn't believe Howl could be so cruel. Especially judging from his love of children.

Morgan maintained a mutinous expression. Sophie sighed, wondering how she could explain it to him.

"He doesn't know about you," she admitted, and she caught his surprise. "If he knew. . ." If he knew, what? What would Howl do if he knew?

"Why didn't you tell him this morning? Didn't he wonder why you have two children – by all appearances – living with you?"

_I didn't give him a chance to ask,_ she thought with an inward sigh of relief.

"I don't want him back in my life, Morgan," she said softly. Then, more resolutely, and with as much fervor as she could muster, she reassured, "We don't **need **him back in our lives."

She said it more for her peace of mind than anything else.

**- - - - -**

**;;Author's Note//** Well, we're already four chapters in, and it seems as if some of you are still unfamiliar with the meaning of 'Alternate Universe'. This fiction is CONTEMPORARY, ladies and gentlemen, so there will be _no_ moving castles, _no_ fire demons (I'm still trying to figure out how to fit Calcifer in the story; suggestions are welcome **:D**), and absolutely _no_ magic, if you don't count the undeniably magical powers of technology nowadays. Please don't complain that you aren't aware of this, because I have warned you at the beginning of each chapter that this is AU. If you don't dig that kind of thing, just don't read it, okay? I admit I don't find snide remarks very humorous.

Sorry. Didn't mean to bring that out on you guys. There's just this one reviewer who's been nagging me ever since the beginning about all the changes I've made in the HMC universe when I've said time and again that it's AU. Some people just don't get it. -sigh- But oh well. People have their own opinions. I still love my dear reviewers. Keep 'em coming, you guys! I appreciate your thoughts! -hugs- **:D**

I noticed quite a few of you mentioned Howl's hair. Yes, I am aware that Howl has dark hair, but when I first began this story, I stubbornly believed that blond-Howl was sexier-Howl, and I planned to keep him that way throughout the story. Then I realized that any-Howl is sexy-Howl, and he _will_ be returning to his sexy brunette self later on (eeek! She reveals a plot point!). Morgan, however, will remain blond, and on this matter I am resolute. Even though Morgan is Diana Wynne Jones's character, I feel like I'm the one who developed him (he's seen so little in 'Castle in the Air') in character, and I can only see him as being a blond now. Besides, it's too late to change it now. **:D** Hope you guys understand.

On a final note, I would like to bring up one more time this matter concerning everyone's favorite fire demon, Calcifer. I have no idea how to fit him into this modern-day story. As a person? As a dog? As Morgan's action figure? I have no idea. Preferably something that's animate and something that talks, because Calcifer does play quite a big part in 'Howl's Moving Castle'. Your suggestions will be greatly appreciated.

Isn't this a quick update, you guys? I'm very proud of myself. **:D **No? Not quick enough for you? -sweatdrops-


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